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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27336631">Fakiru Week 2020</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imasha/pseuds/Imasha'>Imasha</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Princess Tutu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Coffeeshop AU, F/M, Fakiru Week, Fakiru Week 2020, Pumpkin - Freeform, leaves, musings, no beta we die like knights</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:55:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,799</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27336631</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imasha/pseuds/Imasha</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Short fics for Fakiru week 2020~</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ahiru | Duck/Fakir (Princess Tutu)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fakiru Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Welcome to Andy’s café,” the cheerful redhead at the register says, smiling with ease despite it being 8:15 AM on a weekday. “We have our seasonal Pumpkin Spice Latte available now! Would you like one?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fakir barely suppresses a sneer; the season of scarf selfies and inappropriately named spice has arrived. The weather is fine, he appreciates getting to wear his coats again - but the giggling obsession with the ‘aesthetic’ has always irked him. “Just a black coffee.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you like anything added in? We also have Pumpkin Spice shots we can—.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looks a little disappointed, but finishes his order without any further issue. He goes to wait at a small table and gets out some papers to grade. He’s a TA, and the paperwork never ends. At some point, he hears his order name called and retrieves it. The cup has a smiling pumpkin sticker on it. He peels it off and gets his caffeine fix.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This routine continues for the next week, whenever the ginger is at the counter. Her script rarely changes, and even then it’s only to try and find another way to convince him to ‘try it.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s scrumptious season!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just a liiiitle bit?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>One</span>
  </em>
  <span> day with flavor isn’t going to kill you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The last one gets her an actual glare, and he doesn’t expect any further bothering after. It always worked on other people. Unfortunately, she proves stubborn, and asks as usual the next day. He doesn’t even bother answering at this point, just uses his card and then finds a seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He still finds various autumn and pumpkin themed stickers on all his coffee orders any time she’s working. It obviously isn’t a requirement as the stickers only appear when she’s around. But she persists, even when the line goes to the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ridiculous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a limited time flavor!” She makes another bid.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good,” he says flatly. “It’s a stupid flavor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her look of shock is satisfying, and leaves her only able to say his total. He goes to his seat, thinking he is finally done with the conversation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then when his order is ready, she comes out herself, holding two cups.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I only got one—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> made this one specifically for </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she says in tones of irritation he didn’t think were possible for her. “It’s a Pumpkin Spice Latte, simple and pure and no added sugar.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> drinking that,” he says, lip curling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t even have to pay for it—!” She exhales, calming herself. “Well I’m leaving it here for </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s delicious and I can only guess you’ve never had one. Maybe that’s why you never smile.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she turns and walks back to her job, leaving him with his cup of black coffee and a steaming pumpkin spice latte. With more stickers and his name on them. He sips his black coffee and goes through more papers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She does this for days. He catches her sneaking hopeful glances at him. He never touches the cup, but she keeps bringing one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, after a particularly dismal round of essays, he drops the pile on the table and manages to spill some of the stupid latte on them, almost hitting his phone in the process. He scrambles and manages to save his device, and napkins make quick work of what spilled on the papers. But they are definitely stained, and now they smell of the offending drink. Worse, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>students</span>
  </em>
  <span> will think he drinks the ridiculous things. He almost wants to spill some of his black coffee on top of it to mask it all, but that would be a waste of good coffee. Fakir takes a long inhale, exhale, and then gathers his things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He picks up the latte on his way out, and he sees the girl watch him from behind the counter. He goes over to the trash can, makes eye contact with her, and drops what’s left of the latte in. It falls heavily and hits with a satisfying sloshing thunk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He expects the shock, that’s a given. Next should come anger, frustration, and irritation - or possibly resignation. But instead, he sees… hurt. Her blue eyes widen and her brow furrows. Her lips tighten and tremble, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> is shocked into place. A moment later, she is gone from behind the counter, disappearing into the back for something or other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fakir continues to stand there a moment longer before shaking himself and getting back to the world. No one else seems to notice, and there is still the day ahead. He has papers to dry out before returning. He doesn’t have time to worry about the feelings of a barista who was trying too hard for something he never asked for, anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yet that night as he’s falling asleep, or trying to, that’s exactly what he finds himself doing. He’s never been exceptionally kind to people in passing, but he likes to think that he’s not blatantly </span>
  <em>
    <span>cruel</span>
  </em>
  <span>; just blunt. Yes, perhaps he had acted a bit strongly, but it was just a drink. People have bad days. It wasn’t like he had yelled at her or thrown the drink at her. And she seemed so resilient otherwise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she had started tearing up about it. Of course, he doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> if she was crying, she left before he could tell, but… Her face…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. It was just a fluke today, and tomorrow they will both be fine. Everything will be forgotten, and she will try to give him another latte, or at the least cover his black coffee in stickers, and he will pretend he doesn’t notice anything and work for an hour in a corner. Things will be more or less normal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The redhead is taking orders as usual, though she sounds a little less chipper, possibly. Fakir blames it on a bad sleep and tries not to think about how he noticed. When his turn arrives, her smile fades. She definitely remembers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly feeling the urge to apologize, or at least explain his mood yesterday, he opens his mouth, but she speaks first.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One black coffee, that’s all, no additions.” She recites his total and gives a tight, customer-service smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shocked by the same girl twice in as many days, Fakir uses his card and goes to sit down. When he gets his coffee, there are no stickers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He should feel fine. He should feel pleased that she is no longer trying to force her ideas of a festive autumn on him. Or at the </span>
  <em>
    <span>least</span>
  </em>
  <span> he shouldn’t feel anything about the fact that his coffee cup has returned to normal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he feels… bad. Awkward. Uncomfortable, at the least.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fakir fails to focus for the next half hour on what he needs to do, and finally leaves the café. The rest of the day isn’t terrible, but it’s certainly tainted by the remnants of that discomforting flavor. He doesn’t know why he’s so bothered, but the more he tries to pretend he isn’t the more he realizes he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stares at his ceiling that night, trying to figure out what to do about it. He doesn’t apologize very well, and he can’t expect to get much across in the middle of a busy workday. Saying sorry </span>
  <em>
    <span>might</span>
  </em>
  <span> suffice, but that might just remind her of the incident and start her </span>
  <em>
    <span>crying</span>
  </em>
  <span> again. Or she’ll be back at her customer service best and wave it off. Which wouldn’t be terrible, he reminds himself, if somehow… unfulfilling. When did apologies have to feel fulfilling?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighs at himself and drifts to sleep, still contemplating when he started caring and what to do about it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next day, he encounters the same customer-service smile on the redhead’s face, less genuine than just a few seconds ago with the previous customer. He should expect as much.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just black coffee, nothing added,” she recites. “That—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Actually,” he interrupts, and glances at her nametag for the first time. “Ahiru, I would like to try the pumpkin spice latte.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She freezes, finger over the touchpad, and blinks at him. Then her eyes narrow in suspicion. “Pumpkin spice?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is starting to feel uncomfortable in a whole new way now. He shifts and nods. “The latte.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” she asks. “There’s flavor involved.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” He could have just asked for the flavor shot, but no, he’s asking for the latte. This is about more than his taste buds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still wary, Ahiru puts his order in and he pays. He goes and starts tumbling through papers at a seat, distracting himself from what he’s just done with work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, he gets his drink. No stickers, but the telltale smell is definitely the latte. It doesn’t smell bad, per se, it just… isn’t his normal. He finds himself missing the familiar scent from his black coffee.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels someone watching him, and turns to see Ahiru watching him. She ducks as soon as he looks her way, and returns to work. He exhales, and looks back at the cup. He will get to it. In a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Twenty minutes later, he has finally gotten some work done, and the cup continues to sit there. Nothing like procrastination to fuel you, he thinks as he contemplates. The steam is no longer rising from the lid, but it’s still warm to the touch. Now or never. He lifts the cup and takes a sip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He isn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t the various flavor combo that hits him. Not altogether discernable, but distinctly complementary nevertheless. It’s a little sweet for his tastes, but he is pretty sure that’s because of the milk. He thinks, then takes a second drink, as no matter the form, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> need caffeine. And it’s not bad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glances back at the counter, and Ahiru is staring dumbfounded at him. It’s amusing, and somewhat adorable. He finds himself smiling at her over the cup.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She </span>
  <em>
    <span>immediately</span>
  </em>
  <span> gets back to work, flustered. Which only amuses him more. He tries to bite back his smile and focus on his work again, feeling… lighter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not exactly an apology, but it’s the closest he can figure out how to do right now. Maybe if he gets her number, he can figure out how to text an apology better… </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Leaves</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Fakiru Week Day 2, Leaves!<br/>It's... scattered, ironically, lol. Some musings.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Everything changes. That’s the point of time, isn’t it? To create and allow change. If something is timeless, then what is the use of time?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seasons shift like clockwork, because they must. They are seasons, and in that definition they are but for a time. Then they move on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaves are an indication of the seasons, of time, of change. Time is not meaningless for a leaf, but very important. Telling it when to grow, to fade, to fall. To decay and feed another generation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaves can tell the passing of time to others, as well. Giving shade to a boy that knows all too well how leaves feel for himself. Floating alongside a yellow duck in its own hues of yellow and orange. Crumbling and crunching underneath the feet of students on their way to classes or practicing a dance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaves understand change. And they offer no judgement. This is why they will always be open, ever shifting and aware. They see the duck turn into a girl and then a princess, then back into a duck again. They see the boy change into a tree and back into a boy again. They see a prince turn into a heartless, timeless figure and tremble in his presence, but are there, even as he turns back into a prince again. They even see a girl become a crow, and then a girl again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The prince and his queen move on, to a timeless place that has no need for changing leaves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the duck. And the boy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They wait for changes. They live and move on and try to understand. And changes do happen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The leaves see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They understand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So they help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They fall and surround the duck that is tiredly lying in the pond. They fall around the boy who has become a man who rests beneath their tree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They crinkle underfoot when the duck becomes a woman who was once a girl who danced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And they celebrate the change that has been so long coming for the couple who ended the timelessness of their town and gave seasons meaning again. Who gave leaves time again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So things change.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the better.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Hunt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Fakiru week continues! Theme? Hunt~</p>
<p>Know anything about Artemis' golden stag? Then you might have an idea of what's about to happen...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Fakir didn't believe in gods. He didn't believe in spirits. He didn't leave offerings, not at temples and not after a hunt. What was the point? Life was what it was, nothing more and nothing less. Offerings were simply wasted resources. He hadn't suffered more because of his unbelief, and he didn't see believers succeed any more than anyone else. There was simply no point in believing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was what he thought. Until the day he shot a bird.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A spectacular bird, a bird of golden plumage and incredible brilliance. He'd shot birds in the past, and he never especially cared if they were beautiful or not, but this one had captured his attention. He could not stop thinking about it until he went back to shoot the thing for the audacity of taking over his mind. His friends warned that such a spectacular bird must surely be blessed and protected, that such thoughts must be inspiration, but they were silly believers. Fakir was not, and would not be swayed. He set out to free his mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And now he stood over the creature, its wing broken and bleeding, as it made pathetic sounds. It was even smaller than he thought. He felt a little bad about it, but mostly he felt ridiculous - such a small and strange creature had no place occupying his mind so completely. But just before he could finish it off, a brilliant light blinded him and struck him to the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You chose the wrong prey, Hunter," a voice echoed, fluid as silk but sharp as ice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The light faded, and Fakir opened his eyes. Before him floated an ethereal being, with two human legs but wings instead of arms, glowing a hot white. The voice sounded feminine, but struck differently than any voice he’d heard before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I had marked this creature as one of mine. She stood out among all others, as a warning and protection. If you had just waited longer, the influence would have eventually faded from your mind. Or if you had embraced the sighting as the good omen it was meant to be, you could have accepted your blessing and been on your way. But no, you took it as a challenge to your mind, your doubts, your </span>
  <em>
    <span>weaknesses</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Impatience. Impudence. Arrogance." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fakir could no longer doubt, at least in </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> particular… spirit? Deity? He had no idea and was too afraid to ask. He regretted his decisions now, of course, but what was done was done. He hung his head, but managed to stand to face his punishment. That was how justice worked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She studied him. “... I will give you a chance to redeem yourself. Take care of my bird until she heals. Ensure she does not perish. Do not let her eat too much bread.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fakir didn’t know what to do with this information except nod. He had never kept pets. He had never tried.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The light faded, and he looked at the bird again.The golden glamour was gone, but it was still yellow colored. It looked like a small, oddly colored duck, and that’s what it was. The bleeding had stopped, and looked a lot cleaner actually - but the break was still obvious. It looked at him pitifully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>She.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fakir looked around, but the spirit was gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ahiru. Her name is Ahiru</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fakir whirled around again. But though the words were from the spirit, they had been in his mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing more came.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ahiru quacked pitifully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fakir looked down, pressing his lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked imploringly up at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed. “Don’t have to push it…” he muttered; to himself, of course. The… duck, couldn’t understand. The spirit had given her a name, but the creature was mortal and— and he was responsible for it now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After another uneasy glance around, he stopped and carefully picked up Ahiru. She squawked in pain and writhed a bit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I— Hold </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he said, wrestling to keep her wing from getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> broken and bleeding again. “I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>helping</span>
  </em>
  <span>, damnit!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Incredibly, she did calm down, though she didn’t look happy about it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good,” he muttered, standing and arranging them so he could carry her safely. Now just to get back, and… care for a wounded duck… He wondered how long wings took to heal.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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